


the ex-templar & the dogmatist

by vellich0rs



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:08:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellich0rs/pseuds/vellich0rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of  (early and, quite frankly, long) drabbles for my warrior Inquisitor, Ailis Trevelyan, and her manly military advisor and ex-templar, Cullen. Not necessarily in order, though once I have more material, I will organise them how I see fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. UNEASE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ailis returns to Skyhold after a particularly gruesome battle in Ferelden, and is uneasy. Cullen pays her an evening visit, concerned about her behaviour.

The door was ajar, and a warm breeze fluttered against Ailis’ cheeks, candles flickering. Her quill flitted across the off-white paper of the report in front of her, ink much too black for her bleary eyes. Tiredness tugged at her eyelids, and her vision was grey and blurred around the edges, face sunken from exhaustion.

Ever since she returned to Skyhold mere fortnights ago, she had been uneasy, jumpy. They hadn’t expected to find anything solidified; mere rumours and whispers of red warriors clad in the symbol of Andraste circled above their heads. But when they reached their destination… Maker. The carnage that had been unleashed upon the land was a sight to see; upturned earth, blood-red fires, corpses littering and appearing at her every step. And then the mages. She had seen them appear above the horizon, heads bobbing up like the swollen red sun, and behind them, the Templars, crazed and power-hungry, chased them down, drove their greatswords and daggers and golden arrows into chests and necks and flesh. Ailis and her teammates; Iron Bull, Sera, and Dorian, managed to shed some blood of their own, but the casualties were too high for her to revel in her warm bed the next night.

The Templars still haunted her thoughts, her dreams— Ailis could not get their helmed faces out of her head.

Seeing those mages fleeing for their lives, their blood being spilt over the innocent fields of Ferelden… It sparked an anger in her that reminded her of smoke and bone; ashes against a rainy sky. The fire of the Starkhaven Circle happened many years ago, but it was still a painful twinge in her gut; a twist of the knife, and the pain became sweltering hot again.

Ailis sighed, black hair slipping out of her braid, undershirt itchy and sliding off of her shoulders. She squinted at the document, picking apart letters in her head, as if staring at the piece of parchment long enough would rearrange the letters into something more positive. Something that didn’t read out as many casualties. 

"Excuse me, Inquisitor. Might I have a word?" 

Ailis jumped, a small squeak escaping from her mouth. She shifted her position in her chair, making out a broad figure masked by candlelight in the doorway. ”Maker, what in Andraste’s grace i—” Her words fell short when she recognised Cullen standing there, amber eyes glowly like embers of their own in the dim light. “Ah, Ser Cullen. I didn’t realise it was you.” Of course you didn’t, you daft tit. You can’t see anything in here. ”What is it?” Irritation flooded into her voice, though it was not aimed at the man before her— it was more aimed towards herself, and the utterly ridiculous way she was acting. She hated being this on-edge, this paranoid.

"Forgive me for startling you, Inqusitor." His voice was warm and languid, trickling like thick honey down her back. She heard the clank of mail as he walked into the room, lighting a candle on his way towards her. "I’ve noticed you seem a tad…" He paused as he lowered himself into the chair opposite her, like he was trying to grasp for the right word. "…Troubled, since you’ve returned. Is everything alright?" His voice seemed generally concerned, and a rush of warmth took place in Ailis’ chest.

She hastily tugged at loose strands of hair, hoping her voice didn’t betray her as she opened her mouth to speak. “I’m fine. Just a little.. shaken, is all.” Shaken seemed appropriate. After all, it wasn’t the worst she’d seen— everyone in the hold knew about her involvement in the Starkhaven incident, and the number of casualties associated with it.

Being a warrior meant seeing much bloodshed, but it still didn’t prepare one against flashbacks and reliving old tragedies. 

He looked at her with an unreadable expression, and his eyes bored into hers, as if trying to break her apart and see what was inside. She all but squirmed under his heavy gaze, trying her best to seem enthralled with the report between her fingertips, when in reality, Ailis wanted nothing more than to lob it across the room. She wasn’t sure what it was about Cullen, but she always found herself tense when he was around. He exuded an energy that she couldn’t put her finger on; was it that intense scowl he wore upon his face, or was it the heady scent of candle wax and incense that seemed to emanate from his chest when he walked past? She could never tell, but he left her entranced.

"Inquisitor." His voice was urgent, so much that it caused her to break her staring contest with her piece of paper. Cullen’s stare was intense, and Ailis swallowed. 

"W-what is it?" She chastised herself; she never let her voice falter, never let herself show her weakness, but Maker, her hands were shaking, her breathing laboured. She turned away, gaining control of her voice long enough to spit out a pained, "There was so much blood…" Her tone of voice was pained, weak, pathetic. She was all but practically whimpering at the feet of her military advisor.

A sigh escaped Cullen’s lips and he looked at Ailis with concern, licking his lips before running an exasperated hands through his hair. “There was nothing you could have done, Ailis.” The flippant insert of her own name startled her, but kept her grounded, and the quivering of her limbs subsided. “Their path is with the Maker, now.” Ailis laid her cold hands on the table, and to her utter surprise, Cullen reached out and let a gloved hand touch her arm, warmth seeping through the material. She did her best to conceal both her astonishment, and the steady creeping of warmth up her neck— she thanked her lucky stars that is was dark enough for her flush to go unnoticeable. His thumb rubbed over her skin in circles for a moment, before he drew his hand away and cleared his throat. “You are a brave woman, Inquisitor. Don’t let the dreams taunt you.” So he knew about the nightmares, as well? It was one thing to wake up drenched in sweat, fear trickling through her veins still as she rose for breakfast, but it was another thing entirely, having to deal with everyone at the Keep knowing about them. 

Her brow scrunched pensively for a moment. “Yes, well.” She looked up at Cullen then, eyes shining in the fading light. “I’ll have some tonight if you keep scowling like that.” She had had enough of the weighty talk, and flashed him a weak smile. It was reciprocated almost immediately, and it made her grin wider. “Thank you, Cullen.” Her sincerity rang true, and even she was startled at the emotion in her voice. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, she noticed. 

"It is my pleasure, Inquisitor." They held gazes for a moment in revered silence, and after a minute, Cullen shuffled, rising out of his seat. "I should retire to my chambers." He bobbed his head formally to Ailis, which made her eyebrow twitch, and turned to walk out of the doorway. He turned back just as he was heading to leave, and smiled slightly. "Sleep well." 

Ailis scoffed quietly, but then licked her lips, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she avoided his gaze, cheeks growing warmer still. “You as well, Commander.”


	2. SOLACE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being woken up by an intense nightmare, Ailis turns to the one place she swore she would never go back to-- the Chantry.

Ailis was never one to pray, but tonight she needed it.

Her forehead was slick with sweat when she rose, eyes bleary and wide in the suffocating darkness she was met with. Chanting “it was only a dream” in her head repeatedly wasn’t working. Pacing wasn’t working. Crying into her pillow wasn’t working. She had seen terrible things in her head just moments before; plagues of demons swallowing her body whole, coating her mind with a thick blackness that engulfed her, choked the air from her throat. 

Swiftly and silently, her small feet scaled the Keep’s winding staircase, marble cold on her skin. Of course she would forget to put on shoes. Andraste’s Flame, she hadn’t even changed out of her nightwear, hadn’t bothered with a breastband. What if someone saw her? Ridiculous, she thought to herself in a chastising tone. No one would be daft enough to pray this late.

As she reached the foot of the stairs and her feet warmed on the plush red rug beneath them, she followed the hallways downwards, where candlelight was thrown in many different directions on the wall. The Keep’s Chantry was anything but modest, with a tall, arched doorway, walls adorned with copious amounts of pictures and ornaments, and candles glowed ever strongly in every corner. The pews were make of a deep burgundy wood, shine dulled by a thin layer of dust, and there were lyric books scattered about them, bearing the symbol of Andraste on the cover. At the very front of the room, in the centre, was a towering marble statue of Andraste, modest figure covered in robes of red and gold. Her hand gripped a mighty sword, whilst she held her head proudly and looked to the beyond.

Ailis sauntered towards the statue, breath slowly returning to her lungs. She was intoxicated by the scent of spices and candlewax, and the room emanated a warmth that she found surprisingly comforting. She hadn’t been within the walls of a Chantry in so long— she almost forgot what it felt like to be safe, to feel like nothing could hurt her. She knelt slowly onto the ground, being careful not to trod on any of the burning candles by her feet, and she dipped her head, black hair covering her face like a veil. She saw nothing but black behind her eyes, and it was then, kneeling beneath the essence of Andraste, that she realised just how scared she was. A muffled gasp escaped her lips and the air was knocked out from her lungs; she didn’t want to cry, not after holding it in for so long, but a ragged sob broke out from her throat, and pin pricks of heat stung her eyes. She bowed her head even more, allowing some tears to trickle down her sticky skin, and she began to recite the Chant of Light in her head. At least no demons could touch her right now. 

\- - - 

He hadn’t heard her walk in through the haze of prayer buzzing in between his ears, the sound of murmured words passing by his lips. She hadn’t noticed him either, for she was kneeling, head bowed down in front of the statue of Andraste. He straightened up against the pew, the cold from the wood seeping through his tunic, and straightened his muscles, back groaning in protest. Maker, he was going to feel that in the morning.

It was the first time Cullen had seen her without her armour, first time he had seen her unkempt in any way; her hair was curly and strewn across her face in careless abandon, and her face was shiny, as if coated with sweat. It was disconcerting, having her so close in proximity to him, especially when he was still tense from the night terrors. His brow furrowed as a rasping sound came from the Inquisitor’s direction— a sob? Was she crying? Cullen shifted, gaining balance as he shuffled out of the pew, making sure he made as much noise as he could before approaching her. “Inquisitor?” 

Ailis whirled her head around, eyes bright with alarm, cheeks flushed. Her hands shaking. She furiously wiped at her eyes, but she knew it was useless; she’d been caught out. She opted instead to straighten her back and hoist herself to her feet, smoothing out creases in her shirt. “Cullen? Maker… What are you doing here?” 

His lips curved into a sympathetic smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep, Lady Inquisitor. Might I ask… Are you alright?” He took a step closer, smile lowering, concern evident on his face. 

Ailis thought about denying her anguish, but what was the use? “I came here for… guidance.” It was a mumbled confession, as if she were ashamed, and her cheeks blazed with embarrassment. “Haven’t been sleeping well. I think I’ve done moping for now, though.” She didn’t want him seeing her weak, yet again— she didn’t want to falter in front of him, again; but he had a way of unravelling her, making her come undone. She cleared her throat and then cocked an eyebrow at her military advisor. “What are you doing up so late in the chantry, anyway?” She could feel the panic draining from her system— whether it was because of the praying, or something else, she could not be sure of. She looked up at his face, examined his features— they were sharp, angular. He had chiselled cheekbones, a strong jaw, and bowed lips. Evidence of age had began to show on his skin— there were wrinkles in between his eyebrows and on his brow, though none round his mouth. He didn’t smile enough for that.

His expression changed— it almost looked pained, sullen, like Ailis struck a nerve in asking. “I was…” he sighed. “A few bad dreams, nothing more.” She raised an eyebrow.

"You have them too, huh." It was almost a whisper— as if speaking too loudly would shatter the atmosphere. Ailis glanced down at her feet, taking a seat in a nearby pew, not daring eye contact. "I thought… I thought mine would have gone by now, but… They keep coming back. Stronger each night." She laughed breathlessly. "I even broke a couple of glasses in my sleep. That’ll teach me for putting things on my night stand." She looked up at Cullen, eyes dry, smile twisted on her lips painfully. "You know this is the first time I’ve been to a Chantry since before my post at Starkhaven? I thought it was an awful place, I wanted to be rid of its claim on me, but…" She looked around, eyes reflecting the orange glow of dimming candles. "I feel safe, right now. I don’t know why, but it’s cleared my head." She twiddled her thumbs together before looking back at Cullen, her expression coy, uncertain, before she stood up, limbs slightly wobbly. "I should not waste anymore of your time, however." Ailis looked up at Cullen, smiling wider, more genuine, and he returned it. Her heart squeezed a little before she bobbed her head in a small bow, fist over her heart. "Goodnight, Commander." 

As she left, she couldn’t help but feel eyes on her back.


	3. CALM BEFORE THE STORM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While sparring on the roof of one of Skyhold's towers, Cullen and Ailis get caught in a storm. They spend their time wisely.

The clank of steel against steel rung out like thunder, and she rolled her shoulders and parried Cullen’s longsword with her own. With another dodge to her left, she swung her sword, but was too slow, and Cullen ducked. He repelled another of her swings and countered with a powerful thrust in her direction, and Ailis’ leg barely grazed the tip of his sword. The recent rainfall had left the cobblestone wet and slippery, and she tried to get a proper footing as she moved to the left to deflect another of Cullen’s powerful swings, but she realised with a crashing embarrassment her lack of grace as her feet slipped on the slick surface. Her arse made a loud, metallic thud, heat flushing through her body as Cullen’s weapon hovered over her throat.

"Do you yield?" His voice was low and booming in the silence that covered her like a blanket. After a few moments of stillness, and careful consideration, her eyes glinted and her muscles recoiled, sword arm reaching out to grab her discarded weapon. Ailis’ sword collided with his, and with enough room, slid to the side, pleased smirk slapped across her mouth.

Cullen’s surprised look made her smirk grow wider. 

She charged, but Cullen dodged her attack and retaliated— Maker he was strong— and the impact flung her sword off to the side, his own yet again poised expertly at her throat. His fingers were hooked around her bicep to steady her, and she realised the proximity of their bodies— flush against each other, warmth of his chest seeping past his armour. "Do you yield, Inquisitor?" His voice dropped to a low whisper, breath washing over her skin. Maker, this was torture. Untimely arousal warmed her core, and alarm bells rang off in Ailis’ head as he gripped her arm tighter, gauntlets pressing bruises into her skin. 

She licked her lips and cast him panicked glance, quickly turning away with an embarrassed nod. She was surprised when his sword clattered to the ground, other hand sliding up her arm, and the ache in her bones became irrelevant to the unusual feeling that swelled in her chest.

"Cullen." She had intended it as a warning, but Ailis’ voice came out as a squeak, and her hands balled against his chest-plate. He inched forward, pulling her closer, eyes gathering smolder as their noses brushed. She inhaled a shaky breath, gasping in his scent— candle wax and incense and iron— and she startled slightly as their lips finally touched. It was chaste, warm, careful; everything about it screamed Cullen, and as she pulled away, her cheeks heated up. Their eyes met, and Cullen raised an eyebrow, licking his lips, fingers hovering lightly over the base of her throat. “Inquisitor?” His voice was filled with concern, and she frowned at the formality. “Did I overstep my boundaries? I thought— did I pick up your signals wrong?” 

Ailis shook her head. “N-no.” She shivered, partly from being cold, partly from blind anticipation twisting in her stomach. “No, Cullen, you… definitely did not.” Her body language could be read by a blind man, she was sure— the leaning in, the light yet casual touching of elbows and arms, the laughing.. It was all painstakingly obvious, and she was thankful he was not as inept as Bull had initially thought. 

She could not read the look in his eyes, but a small smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, and she sighed, hands cupping his neck before leaning her forehead against his. His skin was warm against hers, and she was grateful. Ailis had been longing to feel his touch, to know what his lips tasted like, what he tasted like, and now that she had gained that knowledge, she wanted nothing more than to taste him again, and again, and again, until all she knew was his body, his existence, him. 

A crack of thunder made her body tense, but she didn’t have time to voice her concern of imminent rain, because Cullen’s lips were crushed against hers again— rough and urgent. Ailis whimpered in response, hands deftly grasping his iron-clad waist, heart pounding in her ears, and she parted her lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Another peal of thunder echoed overhead, but this time she did not start; her body was taking over any conscious thought as she slid a leg in between Cullen’s, foot hooking around his ankle. He dipped her slightly, and she made a sound of protest as her hands gripped the sides of his face in surprise. His jawline was dusted with blonde stubble, and she groaned into his mouth as it scratched against her skin, knuckles white as she all but clinged to him. 

The first raindrop landed on her forehead, and her eyebrows knitted together as she pulled away, casting an annoyed look at the sky that was heavy with grey cloud. This elicited a laugh from Cullen, and he drew her lips to his again, much to her enjoyment. He tasted of brandy and metal— likely the lyrium he had taken earlier— and she moaned as his tongue brushed against hers, the taste of him potent and intoxicating. The second raindrop followed quickly after, landing on Ailis’ cheek and trailing down her neck, and soon enough, the two were drenched from head to foot. Cullen pulled away and smirked, his carefully styled hair now something akin to a dirty mop, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Shall we continue this inside?” 

She bit her lip, unsure of her voice, and simply nodded, dark hair falling into her eyes. He brushed it aside before leaning to pick up his sword, sheathing it back on his hip. He started to walk towards the stairs, but thought twice about it, and gathered Ailis’ damp body into his arms, pressing his lips against hers, smiling as a shiver racked her body. He brushed his tongue against hers for good measure, and pulled away, eyes flashing before retreating down the stairs. 

Blasted templar, she thought as she followed his eagerly down the stairs.


	4. NOT NECESSARILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”Not necessarily.” His voice was a whisper against her skin, and the flush dusting across her cheeks became a flame that burnt through her entire body.

She was scribbling away on pieces of parchment, war strategies, ideas, and theories leaping around in her brain. Things had been quiet as of late, but the glowing in her hand had not subsided. It made her nervous when the world was in a dormant stage; she was tightly wound with anticipation, never sure whether to panic or relax.

Cullen sat across from her, lingering troubles of war efforts and casualties etched into the lines of his face, and although she was aware of his gaze on her face, Ailis did not look up.

"I’m surprised you are still here, Inquisitor." He gestured to the empty room around him. "Most have gone to bed."

His voice startled her at first, and she jumped, meeting his eyes. Ailis smiled apologetically, returning her gaze to the parchment in front of her. A rather general coating of ink covered her hand, much to her dismay. “Yes, well.” She licked her lips in momentary deliberation. “I’m not most people.” 

Silence permeated the room, and Ailis became increasingly aware of the lack of sound as time passed. Panic brewed in the back of her mind— it was stifling, maddening. She wondered if it was awkward for him, sitting in this room with her; it had been over a month since they had last been intimate, and she was beginning to think he had lost interest. She wondered if she had made a mistake, fraternising with her military advisor, wondered if the Inquisition would pay for her lack of judgement.

The scraping of wood caused her to look up again into the dimness of the war room, and she cast her eyes on Cullen, who had dragged his chair over to her side. His fingers were fiddling absent-mindedly with a wooden Inquisition piece, and the look in his eyes was almost too intimate, too intense. What did he want? “Do you need something, Commander?” Her voice was thin and she blushed in spite of herself as he draped an arm over her shoulder, almost lazily. Her heart skittered, throwing itself into overdrive as it skipped a beat. “Cullen, I…?” The words fell short as soon as they escaped her mouth, too silent to carry any sort of meaning, and she looked down, becoming increasingly embarrassed with her behaviour. Discarding the board piece on the end of the table, Cullen’s other hand reached for her chin, capturing it in between his fingers and lifting it so their eyes met. 

A smirk played on his lips as Ailis took a sharp breath, and he leaned in, barely brushing his lips against hers. “Not necessarily.” His voice was a whisper against her skin, and the flush dusting across her cheeks became a flame that burnt through her entire body. She groaned involuntarily as he pulled away, hands now cupping the sides of her neck, and she lowered her quill, warm cheek meeting the coolness of Cullen’s shoulder as she leaned in. Her heart hammered an uneven beat in her ribcage, the fluttering of her stomach His scent washed over her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, relief settling into the pit of her stomach as she revelled in the physical contact.   
"Bastard." Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, and he felt his arms wrap around her waist, head leant against hers as he chuckled. The sound was rich, velvety, and heat gathered in her stomach. She sighed and tightened her arms a little, relishing in the comfort of holding someone close. "You know, it’s been a while since I’ve… held someone." It was a bit awkward to say out loud. In response, Cullen hugged Ailis to his chest, and she smiled, breathing in the scent at his neck. Somehow it felt right, being in his arms, like he was a shield of the strongest iron that would be able to protect her, should she need it. Physical contact was new to her— before, shying away seemed like the logical reaction. But being near Cullen sparked a desire in her that could only be explained through touching, and she was grateful for it, no matter how fleeting moments could be.

She scooted her chair over and hoisted herself onto his lap, tucking her body against his, and they sat in silence, the flickering of the candle dusting the walls with shadows. Cullen stroked her hair, and her eyes drooped as she listened to the sound of his breathing matching her own.

"Inquisitor?" She could feel the vibration of his voice against her cheek, and she smiled sleepily. 

"Mmm?" Ailis licked her lips before pressing an innocent kiss to the base of his throat, and Cullen immediately tensed. He growled in warning, and she took it as a challenge, mischief flashing in her eyes as she pressed her lips to the same spot. When his hands gripped the cloth on her back, she smirked against his skin, tongue flicking across his pulse before kissing the spot again, and again, brushing her teeth against his skin, until finally Cullen pulled her away, holding her at arm’s length with an unreadable expression. 

"You are insufferable." He said in an exasperated voice.

She lifted a shoulder nonchalantly and barked a laugh at his pained expression. “Oh Commander, quit frowning,” she started in a teasing tone, “your face might stay that way.”

Cullen growled under his breath as he closed the distance between them, crushing his lips against hers. She squeaked in surprise before melding into his body, bringing her legs up over the side of the chair, tucking them under the arm, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Her toes curled as Cullen’s tongue brushed against hers tentatively, and she fisted her hands into his hair, pressing her chest tightly into his. He ran his hands over the length of her sides, and when his fingertips began following the curve of her breasts, she gasped into the kiss. Cullen took it as a chance to explore her mouth further, and the sudden sensation elicited a moan of approval from Ailis as he dipped her backwards, deepening the kiss. A strange tingling curled in her stomach, and she was suddenly very aware of the heat between her thighs, the bulge of Cullen’s package pressing against her. Stars danced behind her eyelids and a ringing in her ears drowned out all sound save for the ragged breath she drew when their lips parted, much to Ailis’ dismay. 

"What, done already?" She aimed it to be a light, teasing sentence, but the underlying desperation in the quiver of her voice suggested a slight hint of disappointment.   
His lips twitched into a sly smirk, and her head was spinning again as he leant in to brush his lips at the base of her throat, breath tickling her skin. She gripped his shoulders and let out a strangled moan as he did it again, and again, until his lips became feverish, igniting her skin by just the slightest touch. 

Cullen pulled away, eyes heavy with lust, and his hand trailed down to cup one of her breasts, sending a white-hot sensation crackling over her skin. “Not necessarily.” She groaned and gripped his waist with her calloused fingers, sliding over sensitive parts of his body, mapping the skin underneath his tunic, tongue twisting in time with his—

A sound from the doorway all but made Ailis scream in shock and embarrassment, and after she realised it was Varric standing there with his smug little expression, she buried her face into Cullen”s shoulder, all but shielding herself from his gaze. “Sorry, Inquisitor, I didn’t mean to, ah… Interrupt.” His smile grew wider, and Ailis was sure her face resembled that of a tomato. Cullen huffed squirming in his seat, and she growled under her breath.

Her voice was controlled as she spat the words out through gritted teeth. “Varric. Out. Now. Find me in the morning.” She was met with a chuckle and a small, “Yes, Inquisitor,” before small footsteps tangled into the darkness and eventually disappeared down the hallway. She stretched out her body and moaned slightly when a few aching bones cracked and popped, and she cast a nervous glance up at Cullen. “Sorry, I uh…” She began to shuffle and slide off of his lap, when his strong arms gripped her waist, preventing her from moving further. 

"Perhaps we should find a more… private place to continue." The smirk that had her stomach doing flips was back again, and Ailis had to remind herself to breathe.

"Are you quite sure? I always thought the war room was… suitable."

"Insufferable," Cullen mumbled as he planted kisses down the length of her throat, and she giggled delightedly when his hands found hers.


End file.
